


The Cottage

by BanimalQ



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Sherlock Holmes, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Top John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 04:47:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11593245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BanimalQ/pseuds/BanimalQ
Summary: There was a cottage out back. You wouldn't notice it if you were in the library, standing at the window looking out onto the back gardens, but it was there nestled there in the woods, safe from prying eyes.





	The Cottage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BeautifulFiction](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeautifulFiction/gifts).



> Well, I was reading Bloody But Unbowed by the ever amazing BeautifulFiction, and a little idea got stuck in my head. That evening I took a flight and started writing this. It has nothing to do with the aforementioned story, except that John and Sherlock are both in them, nor can I claim that this work will be as good as even a draft from BeautifulFiction, but I hope you all like it.

There was a cottage out back. You wouldn't notice it if you were in the library, standing at the window looking out onto the back gardens, but it was there nestled there in the woods, safe from prying eyes. The trees formed a neat line at the edge of the manicured lawn, and behind that a dense thicket formed. 

On cold nights the windows glowed gold and red and smoke rose through the chimney to the tops of the tree. Andromeda, Aldebaran, Mirfak, Capella, Jupiter, Orion, Cassiopeia … all holding court in the sky above. Sherlock liked to visit on those nights, taking the shortest path from the door of the library to the moss covered door of the old cottage. The warmth of the cottage drew him from the cold halls, from the solitude of his mind. 

He liked to pretend that John wasn't expecting him; though his hand never quite made it to the chipped knocker on the door before it would open, light and warmth spilling out into the darkness. As he crossed the threshold a weight would lift off of his shoulders and the tightness in his chest would ease.

Scotch in hand, John threw another log onto the fire before he settled into his chair. He stretched out his right leg and slowly rubbed his thick wool socks against Sherlock's shoes. 

"Off," he demanded with a slight grin. Sherlock huffed but set down his tumbler before he reached for the laces of his shoe. "I don't know why you always have those damn shoes on, hardly practical."

Sherlock paused and glanced up with an incredulous look. "And what would you pair with a bespoke suit? Combat boots?"

“Always ready for battle,” John replied with a low chuckle. They sat in silence for a few moments, the low strains of a cello singing mournfully from the speakers on the mantle. 

Some nights were like this: quiet and comfortable, a stolen moment between cases. Other nights were filled with tea and Sherlock running through lists of facts and evidence, trying to make the right connections. And even more rare were the nights that John would somehow convince Sherlock to watch a Bond movie or play Cluedo, always ending in Sherlock hurling his aforementioned shoe at a wall and John doubled over in a fit of giggles. 

It never mattered to Sherlock what happened after he arrived. He always felt better after a visit to the cottage, to John. 

"I've been waiting for you, you know, for a while now," John said breaking the comfortable silence between them. His gaze was firmly on his drink though his foot remained between Sherlock's own feet, his toe rubbing against Sherlock's arch.

"Yes, I know . . . this case has been more -- difficult. I've had to travel a bit too. It was —  unexpected." 

John looked up as a flash of pain crossed Sherlock's face and then quickly schooled into indifference. He drained his glass and leaned forward to fill both glasses with another two fingers of whiskey. 

It had been a mistake to come to the cottage tonight. Sherlock could see that clearly now that he was warm from the fire and the whiskey. John would know. No doubt he could already see through the pathetic veil that Sherlock was attempting to hide behind. One glance at John confirmed this. 

"Oh Sherlock," John breathed out, reaching to rest his hand on the detective's knee. "It's bad, isn't it?"

John was always more perceptive than people noticed. He could read social situations and emotions much quicker than Sherlock, though he was always the last to notice his own emotions. 

"What do you need, Sherlock? Let me help," he said as he dropped down to the floor between Sherlock's knees. Something tightened in Sherlock's chest and he closed his eyes tight against the feeling.

"Stay a bit longer, yeah? Let me take care of you.” A tentative hand came up to brush through the curls at the back of Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock held his breath, still uncertain if he should give in, knowing that if he did he would not be able to go back to life without John.

John Watson was a generous lover. Sherlock did not know this from personal experience, but had conducted an in depth analysis of previous girlfriends, and a very talkative army mate, on the matter. At the time Sherlock had convinced himself that he was just being thorough in checking the background of a potential flat mate; his lies were less convincing now. 

The motion was almost involuntary, his head dropped back in the cup of John’s palm. John let out a small sigh and slowly leaned in to press his lips against Sherlock's own lips. The feeling sent a jolt through his body, it was unlike anything he had felt before. 

John continued running his lips up and down Sherlock's neck, one hand gripped his curls, the other held firm on his waist. Sherlock opened his knees further to allow John to press his body closer.

The fact that Sherlock wasn't a virgin meant nothing when faced with the assault of John H Watson on his senses. His body was reacting and Sherlock could do nothing to stop his small moans and the way his back arched his body into John’s chest. 

“John, what are you doing?” Sherlock panted out as John’s hand began to undo the buckle on Sherlock’s belt. 

“Oh think it is quite obvious what I’m doing here. You’ve deduced more from less information,” John chuckled. His fingers moved to the fly and he nudged at Sherlock’s hips. “Budge up a bit.”

Without a conscious thought, Sherlock lifted his hips and John pulled layers of wool and silk down his legs. 

“You’re going to perform fellatio on me,” Sherlock stated plainly, though his breathless voice betrayed him. John settled back between the detectives knees, hands braced on the side of either hip, and leaned in close to Sherlock’s ear again.

“There’s my genius detective. Now tell me, would you like me to suck your cock?” John asked. He skimmed his hands along Sherlock’s flank and waited for a response. Every inch of Sherlock’s body was screaming yes but he knew that John wouldn’t touch him until he verbalized his consent. He drew in a breath and whined, “Yes, John!”

The world closed in until all Sherlock could focus on was the feeling of John’s thumbnail gently dragging down the short length of Sherlock’s soft cock. John and Sherlock both moaned as his thumb found and dipped into the long foreskin enveloping the glans. John began gently alternating between tugging on the foreskin and dipping his finger in to caress the still hidden glans.

“Please,” Sherlock moaned, “more, I need—“ he broke off with a cry and John leaned down and took the soft cock completely into his mouth. Sherlock gripped the arms of the chair, uncertain if he wanted to pull away or push further into the wet heat of John’s mouth. He could feel his cock begin to lengthen as John swirled his around and slowly pulled his head back until just the foreskin was trapped between his lips. John’s hand came up to hold the base of Sherlock’s cock and he began to suck gently just at the head, giving too much attention and not enough attention all at once.

“I can’t, please, it’s too much!” he cried out. John sat back on his heels and looked up into Sherlock’s eyes. His hand lazily pulled Sherlock’s foreskin back and forth across the head of his cock, pre-cum had begun to drip from the tip. 

“Is this too much, Sherlock? Shall I just stop now?” John asked with a smirk.

“No!” Sherlock shouted. He quickly grabbed John’s wrists to keep his hands in place. John lowered his head back down with a chuckle, this time giving the small, hard length the attention it deserved. Sherlock’s hands moved up to John’s head and grasped at the short blonde hair. 

He knew that he was not going to able to last much longer. John had begun sucking his cock deep into his mouth, then pulling off completely while his hand stroked root to tip.

“Oh god, oh god,” Sherlock panted, his hands pressing John’s head down to meet the upward thrust of his hips. He came with a shout, continuing to grind his hips into John’s face. John suckled at his cock until it was soft again; it was too much on his sensitive cock, but Sherlock hadn’t been ready to leave the wet heat of John’s mouth.

John rested his head on Sherlock’s thigh, his breath was warm and quick on his skin and Sherlock could feel John’s hard cock pressing against his foot. This moment was beyond Sherlock’s sexual experience, he wasn’t sure what he should do next; a quick blow job in an alley couldn’t hold a candle to the easy banter between them and John’s confident hands guiding them. 

Sherlock didn’t have to wait long, soon John was moving to his chair to grab a soft blanket and Union Jack pillow. He turned back to Sherlock with an outstretched hand.

“Come on then, give us a cuddle,” he grinned. 

Sherlock pushed the trousers and pants pooled around his ankles off and slipped off the chair onto the blanket laid out between the chairs. The fire had burned down to coals and John threw another log on before settling down, pulling Sherlock’s back against his chest. He rested his lips against Sherlock’s neck as he held him.

Sherlock could feel John’s cock so hard and pressing against him, yet he didn’t know if he should move or return the favor. For so long John had claimed he was not gay that this evenings events turned his view of John upside down. No longer was he unattainable, yet Sherlock knew there was a possibility that this would not last beyond the night.

“I . . . this really isn’t my area,” he finally managed to whisper. He felt John grin against his neck and then placed a small kiss there. 

“It’s a good thing this is very much my area then,” he answered, “Would you like more?”

Sherlock answered by pressing his hips back against the still very hard cock. John ran his hands under Sherlock’s shirt, gently caressing every inch of his torso. He continued to lavish Sherlock’s neck with wet kisses and began gently grinding his cock against Sherlock’s supple ass  in response. One by one, John slipped the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt free and parted the fabric to expose his chest.

“I should very much like to fuck you, Sherlock, would you like that? Have you had a cock in you before?” 

John’s forwardness took the breath out of Sherlock. Each time he went to answer only a small moan would escape his lips. It took all of his determination to push out of John’s arms and roll to his front, pushing his ass up in the air waiting for John to take from him what he wanted. 

A small gasp passed John’s lips, then gentle hands began caressing pale skin, beginning on the soft globes of his ass and moving up and down, each stroke covering more skin. It didn’t cross Sherlock’s mind until too late, so distracted he had become by John’s touch that any thought of self-preservation was gone. One moment he was lost to his senses and the next John was pushing up his shirt as his hand roamed up further, completely exposing Sherlock’s back to John. 

This time the gasp from John was not one of excitement but of horror. Laid out on Sherlock’s back was a series of deep red lines and bruises. Sherlock tried to sit up or at the very least pull the shirt back down to cover the mess of his back, but John gently held his wrists and assessed the skin before him. 

“Jesus, what happened?” he whispered. 

“You weren’t meant to see that,” Sherlock sighed. And he hadn’t planned on John ever knowing, he wasn’t going to tell him, and he doubted even Mycroft would be cruel enough to tell John what happened. No, John mustn’t know what happened. He couldn’t change that face that John had seen his back, but he wasn’t going to let him dwell on it. 

With more force Sherlock broke free of John’s hold and rolled onto his back, still half under John’s body. Both of their erections had flagged since the shock of Sherlock’s back, but Sherlock was determined to finish what they had started. He reached up to John’s shirt and tugged the hem.

“Off,” he mimicked John’s command that started them down this path. Their eyes met and a ghost of a smile passed John’s lips. Slowly John pulled his jumper and vest off in one go and rested his hands at his trousers, arching one eyebrow in question. Sherlock reached up and began undoing the clasp of John’s trousers, his eyes never leaving John’s. “I want this, now. Later we can talk,” he promised, though he was uncertain if it was a promise he could keep.

Once John was naked, Sherlock pulled him down for a kiss. It started slow, a reassurance that this was what Sherlock wanted, then deepened with renewed arousal and the promise of more. Their teeth colliding as each tried to get as much of the others mouth they could. It was sloppy and wet, the shock of naked skin making them more frantic. 

“Roll over,” John pulled away enough to push at Sherlock’s hip. “I don’t have any lube, so this will have to do.”

Sherlock resumed his previous position, ass high in the air and head resting on the pillow. He had left his shirt on and John gently caressed his back through the fabric, not pushing it up past his tailbone. Slowly his hands made their way back to Sherlock’s ass, running a finger teasingly through the crack. John’s hands moved to expose Sherlock’s hole, gently running a thumb over the sensitive flesh. Sherlock let out a low moan when John’s finger was replaced with his tongue. The soft, wet muscle feeling so different that the calloused digit.  

The feeling of John’s tongue on his hole was so different than it had been on his cock. Where it had been light and teasing before, it was now firm against Sherlock’s tight entrance. Sherlock relaxed into the intrusion, pressing back to get as much as he could of John into him. 

“More, John, I need more,” he moaned while reaching around to hold himself open. John leaned back and spit on Sherlock’s hole, then gathered it and slowly pushed it in with a finger, not stopping until it was deep inside Sherlock’s body. He continued pulling his finger out completely and spitting again until Sherlock was sopping wet. Then he quickly set to work stretching Sherlock open with his fingers and tongue.

Sherlock was writhing on the floor beneath John. His small cock was already hard again, yet Sherlock refused to touch himself, wanting to come from John’s cock alone. 

It wasn’t long until John deemed Sherlock ready. With a sloppy kiss he pulled back and lined up his cock against Sherlock’s entrance. John began to dip the his glans into Sherlock with a shallow thrust, then pull out completely and place wet kiss on the swollen hole. Over and over, until Sherlock thought he would explode from the teasing. 

He wasn’t sure what John was waiting for but he was done waiting. Sherlock quickly maneuvered himself and John until he was straddling John’s hips. John’s eyes were wide with shock as their positions were reversed. Sherlock slowly peeled his shirt off leaving nothing between the two men. 

“Impatient are we?” John gasped as Sherlock grabbed his cock to steady it and slowly sank down, taking John’s cock to the root. Sherlock stilled for a moment, relishing the burn and fullness of having John completely inside of him. He leaned down and kissed John sweetly.

“I had no idea,” he whispered. They sat unmoving, foreheads touching, breathing each other in.

Then Sherlock began to move, at first slowly, just rocking his hips to get used to the sensation. Then he straightened his spine, steadying himself between the two chairs, and began to ride John. He set a brutal pace, the time for slow and gentle was behind them. Sherlock wasn’t even certain how John had not yet come. 

Tension mounted in Sherlock’s body, orgasm was just within reach, he just needed --

“Oh that’s it, beautiful, come for me,” John purred.

And with that one command, Sherlock was coming again, this time onto John’s chest. He held himself up, but was unable to continue riding John. He paused to catch his breath, then pushed up onto his knees.

“Take it, John. Use me, come in me,” Sherlock demanded. John planted his feet and held on to Sherlock’s hips. He thrust his hips up, it was too much for Sherlock’s abused hole, but he held himself still, allowing John to finally take his pleasure. With a few more thrusts, John was groaning as he came inside of Sherlock. 

Both men were panting, bodies slick with sweat, spit, and cum. John reached up to stroked Sherlock’s cheek and giggled.

“That was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever done,” John said between giggles.

“And you invaded --” 

Sherlock opened his eyes. 

The room was dark except for a single light bulb. It was damp and cold. His arms were outstretched, wrists chained to the wall on either side of him. 

_Serbia. Moriarty. The Fall._

Reality came back to him in a flood. He failed, had been captured. And this time he didn’t have a way out.


End file.
